


The Circle in the Spiral

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [22]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Canon Departure, Drama, During Canon, F/M, Friendship, Jealousy, Medical Procedures, Mild Sexual Content, Natural Disasters, Nightmares, Sabotage, Triage, Visions, War, incarceration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 12:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16702972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Life continues to move at break-neck speed for Julian, while it seems to have come to a screeching halt for Garak. When Julian finally has time to travel with Leeta to Risa, a mysterious medical crisis strikes Garak, leaving the rest of the infirmary staff baffled and hoping for Julian's quick return. Garak travels to the brink of madness, discovering that there is more to his world than he ever imagined. Can Julian save him, or will he need that energy for himself when a burn conference doesn't go as expected?





	The Circle in the Spiral

**Part I**  
 _Julian_  
   
They stare at him from the floor, these corpses with living eyes, pleading with him to do something, do anything for the agony, for their bodies which are beyond what help he can provide. He steps over them without a second glance. All of his energy is for those who might live to see another day with simple surgery, a good antibiotic, and a little time to rest. It's a choreography of efficiency in the damp, close space.  
   
 _Stench of blood. Stench of bile. Stench of sweat._  
   
He offers a smile here, a touch there, impersonal comfort to nameless patients. Hopeless cries, whimpers, and moans rise from the beds and the floor, a discordant cacophony, the music for the dance of life and death of the doctors, medics, and untrained assistants doing their best to fight back the tide of destruction.  
   
 _Stench of blood. Stench of bile. Stench of sweat._  
   
Never enough sleep, never enough time to eat, and it's a miracle he has an appetite. He's burning too much not to fuel the internal fire. His patients can't afford their doctor's collapse. He can't afford the guilt of letting himself falter. There's no room for mistakes, no back up system for any failure.  
   
 _Stench of blood. Stench of bile. Stench of sweat._  
   
He's running. The ground is exploding in showers of grit and pebbles. It's raining earth. The sky is upside down, and there's so much noise it jars his teeth in their sockets. Jake is behind him. There's no safe path, no guarantee. There's a wall of sound so hard it's a shove against his skin. Where is Jake? Where is Jake?! The boy is on the blasted ground, looking at him with dead eyes in a living body.  
   
Julian jerked awake with a loud outcry, his body already sitting up before his mind was fully engaged. So soaked with sweat that even his mattress was soggy, he violently kicked the tangled covers from around his legs and stumbled into the bathroom to splash his head, face, and chest with water. It wasn't enough. He dunked his entire head under the faucet and let it run until he felt himself return to reality. “How many times am I going to have that dream?” he groaned, reaching up to shut off the flow of water and fumbling blindly for a towel.  
   
His breathing was slow to return to his control. Even after a shower, he thought he could still feel that fine coating of grit on his skin atop his sour sweat.  _It has been weeks!_  he told himself in frustration. Since then there had been worse things to worry about, Keiko's possession by a very real, non-mythological pagh wraith, an accidental trip back in time that could have gone terribly wrong but thankfully didn't. It didn't matter. It all paled in comparison to his first real taste of war. Nothing that had happened on the station had fully prepared him for it. He had performed admirably according to his superiors. So why did he relate more to Jake's article about the experience than anything his veneer of competence would suggest?  
   
He debated with himself for a long time before walking over to his comm system and hailing Leeta. He hoped she wasn't asleep yet. She answered the call still in her Dabo girl outfit and looked surprised. “Julian, is everything OK?” she asked.  
   
“Yes,” he said, the heart in his smile dying before it could fully form. “No,” he negated the lie. “I know this might be awkward, but...can I come over, please?”  
   
“All right,” she said, her frown deepening. “I was just about to eat. Do you want me to set you a place?”  
   
“No,” he said. “I'm not hungry. I just...I really need some company right now, and I didn't know who else to call.”  
   
“That's OK,” she said. “I'll see you in a few minutes.”  
   
He cut the transmission and headed back to his bedroom, throwing on an older, comfortable pullover and drawstring tie pants. He kicked his feet into his only pair of sandals and hurried out of his quarters. Something about the eerie silence and shadowed lighting of the habitat ring corridor made him feel exposed to the ghosts of his memories of the triage, all of those people he had to ignore in order to save the ones he could. He wasn't a superstitious man in any way, and yet he couldn't help but to feel a distinct chill.  
   
Leeta answered his hail on the first ring and drew him inside by both hands. She wrapped him in a warm, tight embrace and held him there for as long as he allowed. He didn't have words for how grateful he felt, that she didn't question him or fuss over him, simply giving him what he needed most in that moment. At last he pulled back, cupping both of her cheeks in his hands and kissing her full on the mouth, a chaste kiss that spoke for him where his words failed him. “I know you're hungry,” he said. “Go ahead and sit to eat. I'll sit with you, and we can talk.”  
   
“OK,” she said, taking one of his hands and leading him to the table with her. She took her seat and eyed him receptively, seemingly content to allow him to lead the conversation any way he saw fit. He felt another surge of gratitude.  
   
“I keep having this recurring nightmare about Ajilon Prime. A lot of it is just about what you'd expect, you know? The triage and surgeries, the huge number of casualties we had coming through constantly. I know it's just my mind trying to process everything I saw and did, but there's always this part at the end involving Jake.” He paused and frowned. She reached to take his hand again. He felt guilty that she had yet to touch her food. “You should eat,” he said.  
   
“I will in a minute,” she replied. “What about Jake?”  
   
He squeezed her hand and released it, then passed his hand down his face. “It's like...he's dead inside...because I took him there. I see him lying on the ground, writhing in pain, but his eyes are dead, clouded over...” He paused, speaking of it difficult. The emotional hold of the dream lingered close to the surface. “Did you ever read his article about it?”  
   
“I did,” she said. “It was amazing, and painful. It reminded me of being young, the things I saw before I knew how to deal with them. Julian, Sweetie, what happened there wasn't your fault. They needed you. You couldn't go without Jake. No matter how much we want to in life, we can't always protect the people who are important to us from pain or death. Jake isn't dead inside.”  
   
“His innocence...” he murmured.  
   
“No,” she said more strongly. “Maybe the child in him took a beating and took another step closer to being an adult. He's resilient. He's a lot like his father in that respect. Have you talked to him about it?”  
   
He shook his head. “I've been avoiding him, if you want the truth of it. I don't know what to say to him. I feel so guilty.”  
   
“I bet if I were to ask him why he hasn't talked to you, I'd hear the same thing,” she said gently. “You should talk to each other. You could help each other deal with this. If it's a recurring dream, it's something your pagh is trying to tell you, something you're ignoring. Guilt has a way of getting a life of its own if you don't deal with it. It can manifest in all kinds of destructive ways.”  
   
“I'll think about it,” he said, meaning it and not just trying to put her off. “After we go to Risa.”  
   
“What?” she asked, her eyes widening. “When did you make the plans?”  
   
“Well, I haven't, exactly. I intended to talk to you about it today, but I got swamped at the infirmary. Dax told me that she and Worf are planning a trip there. They'll be using a runabout. I figured we could hitch a ride, if you think you can get the time off.”  
   
“Oh, I'll get the time off,” she said, determined. “Besides, it sounds like you could really use the vacation. I'm really honored you felt like you could come share all of this with me. I know when we broke up, I said a lot of harsh things...”  
   
“The things you said were true,” he said quickly. “All of them. I hate that I put you through all of that. I'd hate it even more if we stopped being friends over it, though.”  
   
“You'd have a harder time getting rid of me than that,” she said, finally picking up her fork and starting to eat.  
   
“Good,” he said, smiling and glancing around the quarters. She hadn't changed things much since his last visit, except that he noticed she had cooking supplies on her sideboard. “When did you take up cooking?” he asked.  
   
She beamed. “Oh, I've been doing it for a while now. Aroya is teaching me.”  
   
“Odo's Aroya?” he asked.  
   
“Well, I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that just yet,” she said, “but yes. The same. She owns the Bajoran restaurant that overlooks the Promenade. You should try it. The food is amazing there and really reasonably priced.”  
   
“Too bad you hadn't met her when we were going out,” he teased her lightly.  
   
She squinted playfully. “Watch it, you. I'll have you know everything I tried to cook for you was a labor of love.”  
   
“I know,” he said, easing a smile. He glanced around again. “I have a question, off topic.”  
   
“Sure,” she said, taking another bite and looking at him expectantly.  
   
“Where's Kukalaka?”  
   
“On my bed,” she said. “Why?”  
   
“Well, I was just thinking...you know...since we're not together anymore, I really would like him back,” he said.  
   
She opened her mouth in shock and set her fork down. “Julian Subatoi Bashir! That is one of the rudest things you've ever asked me. You gave me that bear. You didn't say you were loaning him to me. You said, and I quote, 'I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have him than you'.”  
   
“True,” he said, “but...well, Leeta, he's the only thing I have from my childhood. At the time I said that, I thought we'd be together, so even though he was in your quarters, he was still with me, as well.”  
   
“So you weren't really giving him to me, and you lied about that, too?” she demanded, nothing at all playful about her demeanor now.  
   
With a sinking feeling, he realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with this. Unless he was prepared to march into her bedroom and take him by force, Kukalaka was lost to him. “No, of course not,” he said softly. “I'm...sorry for offending you.”  
   
She settled down and resumed eating her late supper. “If you want to see him you can,” she gave the grudging concession.  
   
“No, that's all right,” he said with a sigh. “I need to try to get some sleep. Thanks for listening.” He stood and squeezed her shoulder. “Let me know as soon as you can whether you can get the time off for Risa. Worf and Dax will be leaving in two days. I only just found out about it, or I'd have given you more warning.”  
   
“I will,” she said, covering his hand with hers. “I'm really excited about this. It's going to be great for us. You'll see.”  
   
“I'm sure it will,” he said, hoping she was right. In that moment, all he felt was sad, and he didn't know if it was for the finality of the parting, losing the only positive connection he had to his childhood, or both. He left her quarters and returned to his, empty and alone, but thankfully no longer disturbed or afraid. He decided he could take some comfort in that.  
   
 _Garak  
Holding Cell_  
   
Having already seen Aroya and Ziyal that day, Garak wasn't expecting more visitors. He looked up from mending a pair of pants for Odo and met Rom's beaming smile with a pleasant one of his own. “What a pleasant surprise,” he said graciously. “Aren't you usually working at this time?”  
   
“It's my day off,” Rom said, stepping into the cell when the guard lowered the force field for him. He took a seat on the bunk at Garak's gesture and curled a foot beneath a bent knee. “I haven't been by in close to a week. I'm sorry for that. We've been really busy lately, lots of upgrades because of the Klingon war.”  
   
“You don't have to apologize to me,” Garak said, setting the work aside. “While it's always a pleasure to receive visitors, it's not something I expect. You seem particularly cheerful today. May I ask why?”  
   
“You may,” Rom said with another beam.  
   
He didn't always appreciate the man's humor. He did, however, appreciate that he tried. “Very well,” he said, playing along, “why are you so cheerful today?”  
   
“I'm glad you asked,” the Ferengi said. “Lots of reasons! First, it's just a few more weeks before Nog comes back from Starfleet Academy. He's doing really well, and they've let him know that he'll be able to serve here for his practicals. Second, Leeta said she'd cook me supper tonight since we both have a night off together! And third...” he paused dramatically, his deep set eyes twinkling, “I just found out about something that might interest you.”  
   
“Do tell,” Garak said, enjoying the sensation of basking in his friend's good mood and curious as to what he may have discovered.  
   
“There's an upcoming conference on Bajor for a dispassionate view of the Cardassian Occupation. Leeta says that so far Cardassia hasn't expressed any interest in sending a delegate, and the deadline for registration is approaching soon.”  
   
“Oh?” Garak said neutrally. He didn't want to put a damper on Rom's ebullience, but he couldn't see what that had to do with him or why Rom would think he cared.  
   
“Yep. You'll be done with your sentence by the date of the conference. You'd be able to represent your people. Leeta says they're really interested in hearing the Cardassian viewpoint. It's an opportunity to foster better understanding, exactly the sort of thing the treaty was made for! I think you should register. I can get the forms to you and get them to the proper ministry before the deadline. What do you think?”  
   
He gave it some genuine consideration. In light of the conversation he had with Leeta about the occupation, he realized there were probably a lot of misconceptions about Cardassian intent. Much of the worst of the atrocities stemmed from poor management techniques by Legate Kell and his successor, Dukat, the embarrassing pissing contest between the Prefect and Gul Darhe'el just one example of this.  _Yes,_  he thought,  _maybe this is a chance for me to do Cardassia a small service._  “I think I'm grateful that you brought this to my attention. Bring me the forms when you're able, and I'll register.”  
   
Rom beamed. “Leeta will be happy to hear it. She was so disappointed that Cardassia refused to send anybody. She said it was a slap in the face.”  
   
“You've been spending a lot of time with her lately?” Garak asked.  
   
“Well, some,” Rom said. “She's really nice.”  
   
“Yes, she is,” he said, amused. “Perhaps you should ask her out.”  
   
“Not while she's dating Doctor Bashir,” he said. “Besides, what if she doesn't see me that way? I'd just embarrass myself and lose a friend.”  
   
It was on the tip of his tongue to let him know the two weren't dating, but it wasn't his place. He knew he'd be furious with anyone who spilled one of his own secrets, so he kept his own counsel on it. “You'll never know until you ask, correct?”  
   
“Maybe not, but I can't ask while she's with somebody else. It wouldn't be right. Doctor Bashir doesn't deserve that.”  
   
“Your opinion of the good doctor has changed considerably since last we discussed him,” he said, surprised.  
   
“I've gotten to know him better,” he said. “He really helped me a lot with the union and my ear infection. And then he was very nice to Brother when Brunt seized all of his assets.”  
   
Garak frowned. “Don't remind me,” he muttered.  
   
“What?” Rom asked, blinking his confusion.  
   
“Nothing,” the Cardassian said with his blandest smile. “Nothing at all. Tell me about your plans for Nog's return. Will you be throwing him a party?”  
   
 _Julian  
Risa_  
   
The planet was everything he had always heard it to be and then some, warm, sweetly scented air, lush green grass underfoot, and relaxed, smiling people wherever he looked. At first he didn't notice it, but Julian found himself breathing more deeply and slowly, from the diaphragm instead of the chest, and the perpetual tension in his back and shoulders loosened beneath the light of the twin suns. He and Leeta hurried away from Worf, Dax, and Quark, ready to explore and try to wring the most they could out of their vacation.  
   
Leeta reached to squeeze his hand and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I'm going off that way,” she said, pointing to a cabana that was a hub of activity. “Meet up with you later tonight?”  
   
“Sure,” he said, smiling. Already, he had his sights set on a path through dense foliage and bright flowers that seemed to open up in the distance. He could hear the rhythmic ebb and flow of waves on sand and smell a salt tang in the air. Kicking off his sandals, he bent to grasp them by the straps and let his feet sink almost to the ankles in the cool, thick grass. The grass slowly gave way to soft, shell pink sand that was so fine it felt like powder underfoot. It shifted, forcing his legs and feet to work in unfamiliar ways that were nonetheless extremely pleasant exertion. As soon as he crested a small dune, he saw the turquoise sea spread out before him, darkening to cobalt at the horizon. Smiling to himself, he ran the rest of the way onto the beach then slowed again.  
   
A small hut offered over-sized towels, lounge chairs, and broad, pastel colored umbrellas. He stood in the short queue and asked only for a towel. He wanted nothing else between him and the soft, warm sand. He picked a spot with a decent view not only of the beach and sea but several bronze skinned beauties who had the same idea he did about how to spend their afternoon. After spreading out his towel, he stripped down to the bathing trunks he wore beneath his loudly colored pants and settled down on his back.  _If I never move again, it'll be too soon,_  he thought.  
   
The surf had nearly lulled him to sleep when a soft voice caught his attention. “Excuse me. Excuse me? Are you awake?”  
   
He cracked an eye open and turned his head toward the voice. A tan-skinned woman with a tumble of black hair smiled at him. She was lying on her stomach, her bathing suit leaving very little to the imagination. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” she asked, shaking a small bottle at him in emphasis. “I'll be glad to share if you like. I see you have none.”  
   
“I'd be happy to help you,” he said, rolling to his side and coming up on his knees. “You want this on your back?”  
   
“Mmhmm,” she said, “and the backs of my legs if it's not too much trouble.”  
   
He wished that people would trouble him in such a way more often. “Not at all,” he said, squirting some of the oil into his palms. He liked the scent, although he couldn't place it, a scent he might call unisex, certainly nothing he'd object to smelling like. Rubbing it between his palms first, he spread it evenly over her back, her skin sun warmed and satiny soft. “What's your name?” he asked.  
   
“Alyrrha. What's yours?”  
   
“Julian,” he said. He filled his palm with more oil and began stroking it down the back of one of her thighs.  
   
“Has anyone ever told you that you have amazing hands, Julian?” she asked.  
   
He could tell by the small, silvery mark on her forehead that she was Risian, so her flirtation came as no surprise. “As a matter of fact, I do hear that occasionally,” he said. “I'm a doctor.”  
   
Pushing her thick curtain of hair and letting it spill sideways, she shot him an arch glance over her shoulder beneath lowered lashes. “It's a shame to think of those hands wasted on anything so clinical. I can think of a better way to spend some time. Interested?”  
   
Smiling broader, he said, “You had me at 'excuse me.’”  
   
She took him to a low sprawl of a building so close to the sea that the waves nearly lapped its terrace steps. Wide, aesthetically pleasing archways led into the open, breezy common room. The cool stone under his bare feet felt delicious after the warm sand. He couldn't stop himself from gawking at the hanging plants, the statues, and the sparkling wall fountain that tinkled and splashed merrily into a basin filled with brightly colored, lazy fish. “You live here?” he asked, hurrying to catch up to her.  
   
“In one of the apartments, yes,” she said, smiling at his reaction. “You've never been to Risa before, have you?”  
   
“It's that obvious, is it?” he asked, feeling like the worst sort of tourist.  
   
Her smile deepened. “I love meeting newcomers,” she said, drawing him into a hallway lit only by widely spaced skylights. “It's like getting to see the home I love through fresh eyes, and it makes me appreciate it that much more.” They passed through pools of light and shadow, and she opened a door to their right toward the end of the hall.  
   
“No lock?” he asked.  
   
She rolled a shoulder. “None needed,” she said. “I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable?”  
   
“No,” he said. “Actually, I find it refreshing. Always having to be on guard gets...very tiring.”  
   
Taking him by his free hand, she led him through the front room with its low seating and domed ceiling through an open archway to a lovely bedroom with a perfect, unobstructed view of the sea beyond. The large windows were open, letting in fresh air and light and causing all of the pastel, diaphanous curtains to billow gently. She took his folded clothing and sandals from him and set them aside, then molded herself against him, guiding his arms around her waist. “I don't want you to think about anything else tiring or troubling for the rest of the afternoon,” she said. “No one with such beautiful eyes should ever have to look sad.”  
   
They didn't quite wreck her round, silks draped bed, but they made a good try of it. She was the perfect remedy for everything that had been ailing him, receptive, inventive, and most importantly genuinely present. She wasn't going through the motions. She wasn't doing a job or fulfilling an obligation. She enjoyed him as much as he did her. She explored him thoroughly, took her time, and he allowed it without a sense of guilt.  
   
The light shifted from pure, clear white to golden and slanted long shadows into the bedroom by the time both of them felt sated and drowsy. He settled a hand to the damp curve of her hip and inhaled the soft perfume of her hair partially covering his face. “Thank you, Alyrrha,” he murmured.  
   
She tapped light fingers over his chest. “Why are you thanking me?” she asked. “Did you not give me as much pleasure as I you?”  
   
“I hope I did,” he said, nestling lower into the soft pillow beneath his cheek.  
   
She curved full lips into a gentle smile and kissed the tip of his nose. “You did,” she said. “Are you hungry?”  
   
He wasn't until she said something. His stomach suddenly decided to announce that he was famished with a low rumble. “I think that answers that,” he said wryly.  
   
“Then I have but one more question,” she said. “Would you like to eat in, or out?”

**Part II**

_Garak  
Holding Cell_  
   
Looking over the detailed questionnaire the Bajorans had prepared for speakers at the conference had Garak thinking twice about agreeing to do this. Did they honestly expect that he would answer most of these, that any Cardassian would? He made an impatient noise and started filling it out. “Name,” he said aloud. “Easy enough. Elim Garak. Race? Cardassian. Birthplace...” He rolled his eyes, tempted to put “Andor” just to see what they would do about it. “Cardassia Prime. If you expect more detail, too bad,” he muttered.  
   
He lied about his age and birth date, as though any of them would know the difference. “Time in Bajoran territory during the occupation, years, months, days, or other. Well, if that isn't loaded phrasing, what is?” he snorted. “During the occupation, it was Cardassian territory.” He decided to enter that as his answer. They claimed they wanted a dispassionate, unbiased view? The least they could do would be to have the forms reflect reality.  
   
“Position or occupation during the occupation.” After giving it a little thought, he went with his standard story. “Tailor to the troops stationed on Terok Nor. If Cardassian, did you ever have contact with Bajorans during the occupation? If so, briefly detail the nature of the contact. Mended torn clothing as requested by the prefect.”  
   
He skimmed down the rest of the questions, finding the phrasing and the questions themselves to be quite loaded. Many times he indicated such in his answers, and when he finished, he set the PADD aside, annoyed and out of sorts. This was probably a mistake and a waste of time. If it weren't for the fact that it meant he'd be on a planet, even for a little while, and away from the ever shrinking walls of Deep Space Nine, he'd be tempted to tell Rom he changed his mind and to forget the whole thing. Leeta could just get over being disappointed.  
   
They didn't want the truth. Nobody ever seemed willing to face truth, and yet so many claimed to value it above all else. What was truth but an excuse to state something hurtful no one would believe anyway? Conquest was the nature of life. The Federation spread destruction wherever it roamed, every planet colonized and terraformed that had some form of life, just not sentient life, was a story of species destruction and the wrecking of a delicate ecosystem. They presented their ideas and ideals as the pinnacle of sentient thought. Those who disagreed or actively fought against being absorbed into the machine were marginalized and criminalized.  
   
Take the Maquis. He knew what his people did to those they saw as invaders of their territory. With the flourish of a pen and the signing of a treaty, the Federation abandoned their own citizens to the depredations of Cardassians hungry for new territory and resources. They expected the colonists to pick up and resettle wherever they decided to put them. For a people so quick to spout terminology such as freedom of choice and rights, it was a heavy handed way to deal with a problem, a Cardassian way to deal with it. They set aside their ideals whenever it was convenient only to pick them up and wield them with self-righteousness as soon as they were faced with differing viewpoints. Bajor itself, the new darling of the courted fold, would have been abandoned had they pushed forward with their pursuit of a return to the caste system.  
   
The worst part of it was that so few of them managed to see their own hypocrisy, even supposedly intelligent people such as Julian. He lay back on his bunk and laced his fingers over his midriff. There was no denying there was less of him in this place than when they put him here. He could feel the difference. This was kind captivity. They didn't kill one all at once, instead whittling away piece by piece with boredom and ennui.  
   
What he thought didn't matter to them. He knew that. He also knew that what he thought and said wouldn't make one whit of difference at this supposedly unbiased conference. He'd go just the same, speak his mind, and if they didn't care to hear it, what did it matter? They were on the verge of accepting a new sort of invasion. See how well it sat with them the moment the Federation began interfering with their self-rule, indoctrinating their children with some sort of unified alliance ideals, telling them their religion was backwards and outdated, that the sooner they accepted their Prophets as wormhole aliens, the better. They could watch their culture wither away and die while their bellies stayed full, and they lived out long lives with less meaning than they might have once had.  
   
A light scent wafted to him. He sat up immediately. He knew that scent.  _Edosian orchid._  He gasped sharply and held his breath. Considering his heart didn't stop, he realized that if he was indeed smelling an orchid, it hadn't been hybridized in the way that would produce spores that were one of the deadliest toxins known in the Alpha Quadrant. He exhaled slowly and heard a brush of shoe over carpet in the corridor beyond the force field. “Hello?” he called. “Who's there?”  
   
The scent came to him again, sharper and sun drenched. It was the scent of the Tarlak Sector at noon. With it was a faint underpinning of mulch and fertilizer. He froze in place, his breathing quickening.  _This isn't possible,_  he thought.  _I must be asleep._  He performed the mental exercise he had learned as an operative to awaken himself from an unwanted dream, but nothing happened. He was still seated on his bunk. That odor was still pervasive in his cell, and another soft sound came to him from the corridor beyond his line of sight.  
   
“Guard!” he called loudly, standing and approaching the slight shimmer of energy. “Guard! There's an intruder here!”  
   
“Is that any way to speak of your father?” a voice he'd recognize until the day he died said. He saw a shadow fall across the floor in front of his cell, and he quickly leaped back, putting as much distance between himself and the force field as he could. His back hit the wall.  
   
“You can't be here. You're not my father. You're my uncle, you're a liar, and you're dead,” he said sharply.  
   
“Such narrow definitions, Elim,” the voice said gently. “Through Astraea much is possible. Come now, is this any way to treat someone who loves you?” The figure stepped into view, and Garak screamed.  
   
“Garak! Garak!” Odo's strong voice cut through his confusion. Where was he? At first he couldn't tell if he was lying down or standing up. He clutched Odo's hands so fiercely the security chief winced and cried out. “You're all right,” the man said, blue eyes intensely worried. “No one is going to hurt you. Do you know who I am?”  
   
“Of course I do,” he snapped, terrified and furious because of it. He released the man's hands abruptly. He was lying down. He could tell that now, on the floor, not his bunk. He tried to sit up. Odo stopped him with a hand to his chest.  
   
“Give yourself a minute,” he said.  
   
“He should be feeling the effect of the mild sedative I gave him now,” Nurse Frendel's voice came from somewhere behind Odo.  
   
“No sedatives,” he said, shaking his head, afraid all over again for a different reason. “The dreams...” He fought to hold to consciousness, reality as he chose to experience it, not that temporary madness that almost sent him clawing from his own skin. “What happened?” He sought Odo's gaze desperately and held it.  
   
“I was hoping you'd tell me,” Odo said, squeezing his shoulder. “Ms. Trevana said she heard you screaming. When she came to see what was wrong, she said it looked as though you were having a seizure. She dropped the security field and summoned Nurse Frendel.”  
   
His guard's face appeared over Odo's shoulder. “You kept screaming, 'This isn't real,'” she said. “I thought you were going to break your own head open on the floor. I couldn't stop you from thrashing.”  
   
“Has anything like this ever happened to you before?” Frendel asked, still scanning him with his tricorder.  
   
“No, never,” he said.  _Seizure?_  He supposed it was possible. Julian had said on several occasions that he didn't know what lingering effects his implant might have. Perhaps he had simply had a neural misfire across scar tissue.  
   
“Has he had any unusual visitors?” Odo asked the guard, Trevana.  
   
“No. Just his usual two, Ziyal and Chalan, and Rom came by twice, once just to drop off a PADD.”  
   
“Was there something strange on the PADD?” Odo asked Garak.  
   
“Sir,” Frendel cut in, “he's having some really unusual neurotransmitter fluctuations. I'd like to get him into the infirmary and get his vitals and brain activity stabilized. You can question him more after he has had a chance to rest.”  
   
“All right,” Odo said.  
   
Garak grabbed his arm, sudden, unreasoning fear making him want a face he trusted in reach. “Don't let him,” he said.  
   
“Don't let him what?” Odo asked carefully.  
   
“He's Bajoran!” he said through gritted teeth. Why was he having such a hard time expressing himself?  
   
Frowning uncertainly, Odo glanced at Frendel. “Maybe you should let me stay with him for a while,” he said. “I won't question him, but it might calm him.”  
   
“That's probably a good idea,” Frendel conceded. He tapped his comm badge. “Ops, three to beam to the infirmary, Authorization medical, Frendel code two alpha.”  
   
“Confirmed,” came Kira's voice. “Prepare to beam.”  
   
Garak relaxed slightly once they were away from the cell, if only because it put distance between him and his highly disturbing experience. He allowed the staff to change him into a hospital gown and get him settled on a biobed. He wasn't fully in control of his limbs. Frendel assured him it was most likely due to a somewhat adverse reaction to the sedative but intended to perform more tests.  
   
They brought in a chair for Odo and worked around him. Garak did his best to ignore the scans, poking, and prodding, and focus instead on the man's quiet presence. At any moment, he feared a return to that nightmare reality. The worst part of all was how very  _normal_ Tolan Garak looked, as though he had just come in from a full day's work, ready for some of Mila's mediocre sem'hal stew and to regale them both with tales of overheard gossip and anything else interesting that might have graced his day.  
   
“This is...odd,” Frendel said, glancing over at Garak.  
   
“What?” he asked. Odo's posture shifted. He was interested to hear this, too.  
   
“I'm not sure how to explain it yet, but your neurochemistry is almost identical to that of someone who has been recently exposed to an orb,” he said, frowning.  
   
“That's impossible,” Odo said. “I can guarantee he hasn't been out of that cell except for his injections, and if Ms. Trevana says no one unusual has been to see him, then no one unusual has been to see him.”  
   
“I believe you,” Frendel said. “Which just makes this that much stranger.”  
   
 _You have no idea how strange,_  Garak thought grimly.  
   
 _Julian  
Risa_  
   
On their way to find something to eat, Julian and Alyrrha noticed a fairly large crowd gathering and murmuring. “What's going on over there?” he asked.  
   
“Oh,” she said, rolling her eyes, “it's probably another one of Pascal Fullerton's harangues.”  
   
Intrigued, he stopped walking. “Who's Pascal Fullerton?”  
   
“The leader of some crazy moral movement. They call themselves the New Essentialists. They seem to think we're all evil and set to doom the entire Federation to destruction. If you want to hear some of his idiocy, we can head over there. I recommend against it.”  
   
“Do you mind?” he asked.  
   
Shaking her head, she nestled herself against his side and guided his arm in a drape over her shoulders. “I don't mind. Just don't blame me when he bores you to tears.”  
   
Smiling, he squeezed her and walked with her to find a place in the group. The two settled on a lounge chair. As he looked around at all the faces, he saw Dax and Worf in the crowd, Worf not surprisingly still in his uniform. He had a few uncharitable thoughts about the man and his prune juice before turning to Alyrrha again. “I see some of my friends over there,” he said. “Would you like to come meet them?”  
   
“I'm really hungry,” she said apologetically. “Maybe later? You know where I live. You're welcome to come find me. Where are you staying?”  
   
He gave her the name of his hotel and leaned in to give her a lingering kiss. “I'll take you up on that,” he said. “You haven't seen the last of me.” He realized that he missed the arrival of the man in question and hurried to join his friends before the speech could progress far. Alyrrha had been right. The man was a pompous, pedantic windbag. He found it difficult to believe that he truly espoused any of the things he was spouting, that the Federation was somehow morally compromised because of places like Risa. Dax seemed as unimpressed as he was. Worf was a different matter. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the Klingon listening.  _What does she see in him?_  he wondered, glancing back at Dax.  
   
After Fullerton ended the speech, a few people, including Worf, stepped forward to speak to him more in depth. Dax shook her head and turned away from the spectacle. “Julian,” she said, “allow me to introduce you to someone.” She indicated a very attractive woman with mocha skin and striking gray eyes. “This is Arandis, an old, dear friend of Curzon's and the Chief Facilitator for the Temtibi Lagoon. Arandis, this is one of my best friends, Julian. He's our CMO for Deep Space Nine.”  
   
“It's a pleasure to meet you,” he said, smiling warmly. “And may I say that I've been enjoying myself thoroughly ever since I arrived? You do a wonderful job here. You should be proud.”  
   
“The pleasure is all mine, Doctor,” the woman said, squeezing his hand warmly and smiling. “Thank you for your kind words.” She released him and glanced at Dax. “I hate to run, but people always get stirred up after one of Fullerton's shows. I need to go do a little damage control.”  
   
“Don't worry about it,” Dax said. “I'm sure I'll catch up with you later.” She watched her go and turned back to Julian. “Did you mean it? You've been having a good time?” she asked mischievously.  
   
“Yes,” he said, “a very good time, but I'm famished.”  
   
“One thing there's never a shortage of on Risa is food,” Dax said, hooking an arm in his and guiding him with her toward their hotel. “I'm sure we can find something to your liking. I wouldn't mind getting something to eat, myself.”  
   
“Are you having fun?” he asked, somehow doubting it.  
   
“Trying to,” she said a little ruefully. “I wish Worf would loosen up and relax. Ever since that idiot Fullerton gave him a PADD outlining his organization's beliefs, he's had his nose buried in it. I don't understand it. Most Klingons I've met might be serious when it's needed, but they all know how to have a good time. I know that has to be buried somewhere inside him. We have to find a way to draw it out.”  
   
“We?” he asked, chuffing a laugh. “Oh, no. That's all on you. I'm here to have a good time. I'm afraid that doesn't include cajoling Worf into a better mood.”  
   
They passed into the cool interior of the hotel and branched out of the lobby toward the dining area. A pleasantly smiling hostess greeted them. “How many this evening?” she asked.  
   
“Two for now,” Dax said. “There may be a Klingon and a Bajoran joining us later. Possibly a Ferengi, too. If they ask either for Jadzia Dax or Julian Bashir, could you be sure they get directed our way?”  
   
“Gladly,” the woman said. “Right this way.” She led them to one of several semi-private alcove rooms with a low table and cushions for leaning. “An attendant will be with you shortly.” She left them with another smile.  
   
Julian watched her go then selected a leaning cushion and settled in. “You know what I love about this place?”  
   
“What?” Dax asked, also getting settled.  
   
“Everything,” he said with a wide grin.  
   
“Well, I'm glad you came,” she said. She seemed on the verge of asking him something then changed her mind. “I hope Worf doesn't spend half the evening talking with those sticks in the mud. I was hoping to take a night swim. I hear the water is bioluminescent.”  
   
They were brought menus and a selection of refreshing juices, teas, and cold, clean water in sweating metal pitchers. They had just ordered when Worf finally came to join them. Julian felt some of his habitual tension return. He realized that it was partially his fault. He was the one who thought it would be a good idea to hitch a ride with Dax and Worf, and he was too polite and too close to Dax to be able to avoid them the entire trip. Worf didn't make matters any better, immediately launching into a subject he had heard more than enough of from Fullerton. “I am disappointed in both of you,” Worf said, taking his seat. “As Starfleet officers, we should always be open to hearing out viewpoints that may be unpopular but that are sensible.”  
   
“Sensible?” Dax snorted. “There's nothing sensible about ruining people's vacations. We're not Borg. We all do much better when we have some downtime now and then.”  
   
“She's right,” Julian said. “A body and mind constantly stressed breaks down. Immune function, cognitive function, reflexes, all suffer when one doesn't disengage from work and pursue other interests.”  
   
“Meditation and exercise are adequate release from stress, Doctor,” Worf said. “Self-indulgence and lack of self-control alter opinions of one unfavorably.”  
   
Julian wondered at the thick disapproval in Worf's tone. It seemed almost personal. “I haven't seen any uncontrolled displays here on Risa,” he said. “All I see are smiling, relaxed people enjoying the beautiful surroundings and each other's company.”  
   
“Is that what you call it?” Worf asked.  
   
Dax put a hand on his arm and shot him a warning look. “Why don't you look over the menu and decide what you want to eat?” she suggested. “Julian and I have already ordered.” As Worf lifted the menu, she gave Julian an apologetic look.  
   
He sipped his fizzy, slightly fermented juice and offered her a tight half smile. He wondered if he'd be able to tolerate the Klingon's company long enough to get through his meal.  _Note to self. Don't vacation with anyone you don't positively want to be stuck with for days on end,_  he thought.  
   
Worf placed his order and immediately launched into more lecturing. “The Federation has allowed itself to become a fat, tempting target over time. Do you think it is any coincidence that we are constantly engaged in border skirmishes or that my people have decided to turn their backs on a historic agreement and return to the old ways?”  
   
Julian arched a brow at Dax who pretended to take great interest in the tiny umbrella in her glass. He sighed. “No, it's not a coincidence. The border skirmishes in which we are engaged, and have been for decades I might add, are with races that are notoriously territorial, such as the Tholians and the Tzenkethi. If it wasn't us bumping up against them, it would be someone else. The Romulans have also had issues with these races. They're hardly what I'd call fat targets or self-indulgent. You know as well as I that the reason for the current hostilities with your people is changeling infiltration.”  
   
“No changeling could have persuaded my people to break a treaty had there not been...flaws...to exploit,” he countered.  
   
“Excuse me for a moment, will you? I need to take a trip to the refresher,” he said, standing fluidly. He was becoming annoyed enough to say something impolitic and felt a break from the situation would help him cool down. He walked through the rest of the dining area, noticing that the light coming through the windows was the deep blue of dusk. He wondered if it would be too late to go find Alyrrha and explore some of the night clubs he had heard so much about. It had been ages since he had been dancing.  
   
Once in the spacious, well appointed refresher, he took his time, splashing his face, washing his hands and forearms, and testing out a few of the scented oils and lotions until he found the one he liked the best. Scent had the power to calm and relax. He felt more at ease when he returned to their dining alcove and discovered the food had arrived. For a while, all three of them were blessedly silent while they ate. He was so hungry by that time it was a wonder he didn't choke himself on the decadently delicious food. He had to keep reminding himself to chew and taste it.  
   
Worf picked up a plump, orange-ish fruit with tiny green stripes and eyed it as though it were symptomatic of all that he saw wrong with the world. “Any civilization that indulges in the excesses of worlds like Risa perhaps deserves whatever comes to it,” he pronounced with finality.  
   
“Worf, you can't be serious,” he said, extremely irritated at Dax for just sitting there without saying a word. She had to find all of this talk as outrageous as he did, and since when was she a church mouse?  
   
He continued in the same vein, once more bringing up the Klingon conflict. Before things could get more heated, Leeta joined them. He was happy to see her. She was a breath of fresh air in the increasingly stale, hostile environment. As she sat beside him, he noticed both Worf and Dax seemed uncomfortable. What was wrong with those two? It came to a head unexpectedly, the stern officer accusing them of dishonoring each other.  
   
It dawned on him that they never explained why they had come to Risa. He had become so used to keeping their separation a secret that it hadn't occurred to him to say anything. He quickly explained about the Rite of Separation, and Leeta filled in the details. By mutual accord of a glance alone, they made the joint decision to leave Dax and Worf to their own unpleasant company. They excused themselves and escaped from one of the side exits into slightly humid, perfumed air, some night blooming flowers lending their heady fragrance to the already lush melange.  
   
“Poor Dax,” Leeta said, hugging his arm with both of hers and starting across the lawn with him. “Has he been acting like that all day?”  
   
“I don't know about all day,” he said, “but he has ever since I ran into them a little earlier. I'm having a hard time feeling sorry for her. She's just sitting there tolerating it, letting him say the most outrageous and ridiculous things without so much as a peep of a challenge.”  
   
“Sometimes when you love someone, you tolerate all sorts of things you never could see yourself accepting before,” she said gently.  
   
Grudgingly, he had to admit that was so. He had tolerated so many things from Garak that coming from anyone else would have driven him away for good. “Did you mean what you said in there, about my not being completely out of your system?”  
   
She bit her lip before hesitantly nodding. “Maybe it's this place, or maybe it's what we're here for. What about you? Do you want to do this?”  
   
Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her, a deep, languid kiss that felt completely right in that moment. “Yes,” he murmured against her parted lips, “but not in the hotel. Let's go get in the water.”  
   
She smiled, her dark eyes catching starlight, and nodded, this time without any hesitation at all. As they laced their fingers together and ran laughing over the lawn, one of Risa's two moons crested the horizon, large and honey amber in the star bright sky. Julian felt nothing but joy and anticipation. There truly was much wisdom in ancient Bajoran ways.  
   
 _Garak  
The Infirmary_  
   
Ziyal read Preloc well, managing formal Kardassi with ease and aplomb. Garak listened to her with his eyes shut, focusing on the vivid imagery conjured with such skill by a writer at the pinnacle of his distinguished career. The young woman had hardly left his side since discovering he was there. He hadn't told her what had happened to him, and she hadn't asked. For once he was completely glad of the attentiveness. He worried tremendously that if left to his own devices, he might have another hallucination. He could hear subtle strain in her voice and realized that she had been reading for well over an hour.  
   
“I think that's enough for now,” he said, opening his eyes and smiling at her gratefully.  
   
“Are you sure?” she asked. “I'd be happy to keep going.”  
   
“I'm positive. Too much of a good thing,” he said.  
   
She set the PADD aside and scooted her chair closer so that she could take his hand. “I'm surprised you haven't run me off by now,” she said. “I can sometimes tell you'd rather be alone.” She stroked gentle fingers over the back of his hand. “This time it seems like...it seems like you'd rather not be. If you want to talk about what happened, I think you know not only would I be understanding, I'd be discreet.”  
   
“If I understood what happened, I might be tempted to take you up on your offer,” he said. “However, Nurse Frendel doesn't have a clue. With Doctor Bashir away on vacation, I'm stuck here until he can get back and study the work up they've done on me so far. Until Starfleet sees fit to send in more doctors, this is what we're given.”  
   
She nodded. Her slender hands were warm to his skin, a comforting presence, an anchor to reality. He carefully worked his fingers between hers and squeezed gently. “I know there are bound to be things you need to do. I feel guilty taking up all of your time.”  
   
She kept her gaze on their hands as she answered. “What I know is that if you truly wanted me to leave, you'd tell me to leave. You haven't done that, which means you'd really prefer I stay, only you're too proud to come out and say it. You've been there for me whenever I've needed you, no matter how late it was or how inconvenient. Now I'm here for you. It's what friends do.”  
   
“You're so dear,” he said quietly. “Having you here has been like having a piece of home.”  
   
“Even though my mother was Bajoran?” she asked.  
   
He snorted a very soft laugh. “Do you think that matters to me?” he asked.  
   
“You've never acted like it does,” she said, hazarding a glance at him. “Sometimes I wonder, though.”  
   
He exhaled heavily and reached to cover her clasped hand with his other. “Then let me set your mind at ease for once and for all on that matter. If your mother were here right now, I would tell her that she raised an extraordinary young woman, that she imbued her with admirable values and morals, and that it doesn't matter, Bajoran or Cardassian, anyone would be lucky to call her friend.”  
   
Her eyes brightened, and she blinked back tears, looking away quickly. “Wow,” she said, lifting a hand to wipe at her face. “I wasn't expecting that. Mama would've liked you,” she added, nodding. “I think she'd be glad to know I'm close to someone like you. I'm just glad she never had to spend time in that camp. She worried enough about me as it was.”  
   
“It's what mothers do,” he said. “They worry.”  
   
“Does your mother worry about you?” she asked abruptly.  
   
He inhaled slowly, taken off guard by that question. It had been so long since anyone asked him about his family, he hardly knew what to say. “Probably,” he said with a faint smile.  
   
“You never speak of your family,” she pressed.  
   
“No, I don't,” he said with a finality intended to end that line of questioning.  
   
“Family is so important on Cardassia,” she said softly. “I wish things could be different for you. I don't even know what, if anything, went wrong, but I can tell you're not happy most of the time.”  
   
“Happier now,” he said. “If you don't mind, I'd like to stop talking for a while.”  
   
“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, sitting up straighter as though preparing for the departure in advance.  
   
“No. I want you to stay. I just don't want to talk. Is that all right?”  
   
She nodded and smiled softly. “That's perfectly all right,” she said. “Get some rest if you can. I'll hold your hand so you'll know I'm here. I won't leave you until you ask me to.”  
   
As he closed his eyes, he wished that he had the strength to tell her to go. Nothing had shaken him so thoroughly since a disastrous mission to Tzenketh. Her hands on his were the only thing allowing him to consider sleep, and her promise to him the only thing that actually allowed it. When had he so thoroughly trusted another before, and why was it so easy when it came to her? They were questions that would have to wait for another time. Within ten minutes he was deeply asleep and dead to the world.  
   
 _Julian  
Risa_  
   
He didn't know how long he had been staring at his ceiling, and he didn't care. Dull gray light filtered through his windows, the world outside blurred to wavy indistinctness by the sheets of rain blowing against the panes. Lightning flashed again and again, throwing crazy shadows across the smooth dome above him, the rumble of thunder so heavy and low he felt it as a vibration in his chest.  
   
He welcomed the miserable, damp, cold weather. He welcomed the black moods he saw before retreating to his room to lie alone atop the bed clothes. They were perfect mirrors of how he felt ever since Leeta's confession after the ceremony, that even before they had broken up, she was drawn to Rom.  _Rom!_  Every time he touched the thought, he thought he'd be ill. Had he misread her? Had he only thought she was being kind and understanding when she was just waiting for the right moment to plunge that dagger straight into his gut and twist it for all she was worth? Was this some strange payback for Garak?  
   
He turned onto his side and hugged one of the fluffy pillows to his chest. Why had he allowed her to talk him into such a stupid ceremony? It wasn't natural to celebrate breaking things off or to spend time being close with someone one wasn't with any longer. Worf's sabotage of the weather grid and his inability to do anything about it if the Risians refused to press charges infuriated him. He wouldn't have even been here to see it were it not for Leeta's insistence and his guilt at how things ended.  
   
Lulled to sleep by the rain and his misery, he awoke suddenly to darkness punctuated by bright, rapid flashes of lightning. He didn't think the lightning had awakened him. His bed shook, his windows rattling in their casements. That rumble wasn't thunder. It was an earthquake! Quickly, he rolled from his bed and braced himself in his arched doorway until the seismic tremble subsided.  
   
Confused and frightened people spilled from their rooms into the hallway, some of them crying. “It's all right,” Julian said loudly. “Everything is going to be fine. We need to get out of the hotel, safely and orderly. The nearest exit is that way. Let's go. No running now! Does anyone need assistance?”  
   
An elderly gentleman spoke up. “My wife needs some help.”  
   
He picked them out in the crowd now filing down the corridor and hurried to their sides. She smiled at him through her concern. “My arthritis has been acting up with the wet,” she said.  
   
“We'll get you out of here safely in no time,” he said, giving her support from one side while her husband supported her from the other. Once he had them to the exit, he looked back to see if there were any stragglers or anyone else in need. Seeing the corridor empty, he braced himself and stepped out into the torrential rain. The water stung his skin and blinded him. He sheltered the woman as much as he could with his body and met the rest of the huddled, miserable group on the lawn, away from trees or any structures that could do them harm.  
   
“Everyone get down!” he yelled to be heard over the storm. “We're the highest point on this lawn!” Those who could hear him immediately saw the sense in what he was saying and did as they were told, pulling down others further away who didn't know what was going on. They crouched together, the whole lot of them a miserable mass soaking wet and cold in the sodden grass.  _We have to find shelter,_  he thought,  _or some of these people are going to start suffering from hypothermia, but where?_  
   
As he cast about in the darkness, not familiar enough with the layout to have any immediate ideas, he saw two tall figures approaching, herky-jerky in the strobe effect of the lightning. Worf's strong voice cut through the wind. “It is safe to return to the hotel!” he bellowed. “The seismic disturbances have come to an end. Please, come back inside!”  
   
He wasted no time helping people to their feet and guiding them back toward the main entrance and lobby. Once they were all inside, Arandis took charge, finding people towels, blankets, and setting up portable heaters to warm the space. Hot drinks were brought in fairly short order and distributed by helpful Risians. Julian made his own rounds, checking people for signs of shock or injury. Only when he was satisfied that no one needed him did he accept a blanket and drink for himself. Arandis draped the blanket around his shoulders herself and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said. “I can't tell you how grateful I am for all of your help with our guests.”  
   
“I may be on vacation,” he said with a wry smile, “but I'm still a doctor. No thanks necessary.”  
   
Still smiling her gratitude, she left him to see to the others. He squatted to his heels and sipped the hot, sweet drink. Maybe it was just as well that he had been there. Although he was fairly sure people would have managed things on their own, he did feel as though he had made a difference. With any luck, the weather would clear up before they had to leave, and he would be able to say a proper good-bye to Alyrrha.  
   
 _USS Rubicon  
Heading Deep Space Nine_  
   
Julian kept his nose buried in a PADD on the way back to the station. He had nothing he wanted to say to any of his fellow passengers. Ironically the person with whom he was usually the most annoyed was the least offensive to him at the moment, and Quark was being unusually quiet, too. A few times he could see from the corners of his eyes that Leeta was trying to catch his gaze. He studiously ignored her. Dax gave up trying to draw him into conversation with her and Worf. Worf seemed self-righteously oblivious that he had anything for which he should be ashamed, and Julian didn't feel like getting into a pointless argument with someone so stiff necked and pig headed as to be unlikely to see reason.  
   
 _You know your vacation was bad when you're looking forward to getting back to work to get away from it,_  he thought as he pretended to read. If he ever decided to return to Risa, he knew it would be alone. Alyrrha was the one bright spot of the entire trip. Maybe he'd see her again. Maybe he wouldn't. There was something nice about knowing that neither of them had expectations, nor did they have any reason to avoid one another if opportunity struck again down the line.  
   
Only when the station was in view did he deign to shut down his PADD and get moving. He retreated to the back and changed out of civilian clothing into his uniform. He wasn't due to return to work until the following day. It wouldn't hurt to get a jump start on everything he missed while away. When he emerged, Dax and Leeta both shot him questioning looks which he ignored. Worf looked vaguely approving, which simply irritated him. Quark's look was more difficult to read. He had the odd impression that the Ferengi understood.  
   
“You're not heading straight to work when you get off the runabout, are you?” Dax asked, trying for a teasing tone of voice and not quite succeeding.  
   
“Yes, I am,” he said simply and retook his seat.  
   
“Julian is very dedicated to his job,” Leeta piped up, probably trying to be conciliatory.  
   
He said nothing, turning to monitor the systems that didn't really need monitoring with Worf and Dax piloting and co-piloting. They took the ship in to the runabout pad without incident. The platform descended, and they got the green light to disembark. He had his luggage near to hand, shouldering the strap and leaving the rest of them to their own devices. It was late. Frendel, who had been covering for him while he was gone, probably wouldn't be there. Hopefully, he'd have logs lined up and waiting for him.  
   
“Doctor,” one of the night duty nurses said in surprise when he walked through the door, duffel still hanging at his side, “we weren't expecting to see you tonight. How was the trip?”  
   
“It was Risa,” he said noncommittally.  
   
She seemed to think he was being amusing, giving a soft laugh. “You have a point. Actually, I'm glad you're here tonight.” She stood and approached him. “You should come with me. We have Garak in the back. He has been here almost the entire time you've been gone. Nurse Frendel and the rest of us are stumped. Do you think Starfleet will be sending more doctors soon?”  
   
“I don't know. I've put in a request,” he said, not liking what he was hearing. He tucked his bag away under a console and followed her to one of the private rooms.  
   
Ziyal was there. She looked up from the PADD from which she had been reading as soon as she saw him. “Julian!” she said, jumping up and giving him a tight hug. “You're back! Oh, I'm so glad you're back. Look, Garak,” she said, beaming and turning as though he couldn't see him with his own eyes, “it's Julian!”  
   
“I see that, dear,” the tailor said, amusement twinkling in his eyes.  
   
“I'm going to go,” she said, hurrying back to Garak and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “You two have a lot of catching up to do. I'll be back tomorrow.”  
   
He smiled at her as she passed him, his smile fading when he looked back to Garak. “What happened?” he asked.  
   
“I'll go get his chart,” the nurse said, leaving the two of them alone for the time being.  
   
“Why don't you study the chart first,” Garak suggested. “Then we can talk.”  
   
“All right,” he agreed. He took the PADD from the nurse when she brought it and leaned in the doorway, skimming at first then frowning and taking a closer look. “I don't understand this,” he said, looking back to Garak. “You're certain you weren't exposed to an orb?” he asked.  
   
“As certain as I can be,” Garak said. “I think I would remember something like that. Don't you?”  
   
“What do you remember?” he asked.  
   
“I'd rather not say, if it's all the same to you,” the tailor replied.  
   
“It's not all the same to me,” he said, striding over to the bed and leaning in to confront him. “Do you understand? It's not. Your brain chemistry is still imbalanced. A few people who have shown similar readings in the past have had a dangerous buildup of glutamate, leading to seizure and then death. I see here that the guard who discovered something was wrong found you in the midst of a violent seizure. Damn it, Garak, I've given a lot of leeway in the past with you about treatment, but I am not going to let you die, not on my watch, so tell me what you remember.”  
   
“Before I do...I have a favor to ask,” he said with such a determined look that Julian knew the Cardassian was very likely about to get his way.

**Part III**

_Garak  
The Infirmary_

Garak watched Mila blink and peer at the screen, pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders. “Elim?” she asked. “What is it? Do you have any idea what time it is here?”  
   
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I know it's late, or rather...early. I need to ask you something.”  
   
“I hear nothing from you since we lost your father, and suddenly you call me? Still the same selfish boy,” she scolded. “Well, go on then. I'm awake now. I may as well hear this.”  
   
“Who is Astraea?” he asked.  
   
Her crystalline blue eyes widened slightly. She hid the reaction well, just not well enough. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she snapped.  
   
“Yes, you do,” he said. “You need to tell me.”  
   
“Need to tell you, do I?” she asked, narrowing her eyes and drawing herself straighter. “I don't think so.” He saw her hand reaching toward the control to sever the connection.  
   
“Mother, please!” he said, holding her gaze with an intensity of emotion he rarely displayed. “I have to know. Who is this person, and what does she have to do with Father?”  
   
“Nothing,” she said, frowning. “Nothing whatsoever to do with Tain.”  
   
“You know who I mean,” he said. “You know what I'm talking about, more than I do.”  
   
“Some things are best left dead and buried, Elim,” she said softly. “Why are you bringing all of this up? Don't you know it's hurtful?”  
   
“Then at least tell me I'm not going insane,” he demanded, holding his control by a thread.  
   
“What do you mean?” she asked.  
   
“I saw him. Tolan, your brother. Here.”  
   
She stared at him long and hard. “This had better not be another one of your deceitful tricks. I'll never forgive you if it is.”  
   
“Mother, do I look like I'm lying?” he fixed her with a glassy stare. “I saw him, as plainly as I'm seeing you now. He said, 'Through Astraea much is possible'. What does it mean? What's happening to me?”  
   
She sighed, and it seemed as though some of the strength and liveliness drained right out of her along with the breath. “Have you been handling that recitation mask he gave you?” she asked.  
   
“No. I haven't touched it since the day he gave it to me on his deathbed,” he said.  
   
“Don't lie to me now,” she cautioned.  
   
“I'm not lying,” he said evenly. “I haven't touched it. Why would I? The Way is dead, and I have no interest in superstitions.”  
   
She husked a dry sort of laugh. “Apparently, some 'superstitions' have an interest in you.”  
   
“This is funny to you?” he demanded, feeling a flare of anger.  
   
“No,” she said. “No, if you're telling me the truth and not playing some elaborate game, it's not funny. I want you to listen closely to me. I'm only going to say all of this once. Repetition of such things over subspace, even supposedly secure channels, is just asking for trouble. Do you understand?”  
   
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “I understand. Thank you.”  
   
“Don't thank me yet,” she said dryly. “I don't think you're going to like any of this.”  
   
He was still seated in front of the screen with the Starfleet logo, his hand resting against the panel, when Julian returned to the room. He wished that he could have touched her hand, just once. It had been so long, longer yet since he had truly felt like her son, until now. He crammed his conflicting emotions back inside, the fit imperfect so soon after his uncorking. When he turned to face his doctor, his friend, it was the bland face of the tailor he wore.  
   
“All right,” Julian said. “I allowed you the transmission. Now tell me what's going on. What happened to you?”  
   
“A vision of the sacred guide,” he said hollowly.  
   
“What?” Julian asked, drawing closer, his brow furrowed.  
   
“Believe me. I'm as skeptical as you are,” he said, “but I'm afraid I've run short of explanations that make sense. Astraea, the sacred guide of Oralius. Apparently, my people haven't always needed orbs to have visions. According to my source, there are many accounts of others who have had experiences similar to mine.”  
   
Julian put his hand on his shoulder. “Garak, if we don't get your glutamate production under control, you're going to be dead within three days. What you're telling me isn't helping me. It's scaring me.”  
   
“That makes two of us,” he said with a soft sigh. “Because according to my source, the only way to stop these visions is to submit to them.”  
   
“How reliable is your source?” he asked.  
   
“I would trust this person with my life,” he said, and essentially, that was exactly what he was doing. “I need to go back to my cell and be left alone, and I need you to do me one more favor.”  
   
“You're asking me to take a great deal on faith I don't have,” the doctor said grimly.  
   
“I don't have it, either, Doctor. Nonetheless, it's what I need to do. Will you bring me a locked box? It's under a pile of old, folded clothing at the back of my closet.”  
   
“What's in it?” he asked suspiciously.  
   
 _Smart man,_  Garak thought with satisfaction. “A mask,” he said.  
   
“That's it? Just a mask? It's not some sort of mechanized device or weapon?” he pressed.  
   
“Just a mask,” he answered. “You're welcome to scan the box before you deliver it to me. Let Odo scan it, too, if he must.”  
   
“And then what?” Julian asked, clearly worried.  
   
Garak shook his head and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. “Maybe nothing. Maybe my brain chemistry settles down. Your nurse is good, Julian, and he's Bajoran. He's had access to their medical files on people who have had orb experiences. If there was anything in there that could help me, he would've found it by now. I'm not responding to medication, and I promise you, I've been taking it without so much as a peep of protest. What's the worst that can happen? You need a night to fully catch up on my case anyway. Let me go back to the cell, and let me have the box. That's all I'm asking.”  
   
Julian nodded, hesitant to agree. “You have one night, and vision or not, I'm hauling you back in here for more aggressive treatment. I would very much appreciate it if you don't fight me about this.”  
   
Garak smiled faintly. “Believe me. You and I have the same goal. I don't have a death wish.” He stood and took a closer look at the man. Something was off. He couldn't tell exactly what, yet he knew the signs. “I thought you weren't due back to work until tomorrow morning,” he said mildly.  
   
“I'm so well rested, I couldn't resist,” the doctor replied glibly.  
   
 _Beautiful liar,_  Garak thought. He decided not to press it. He needed to get back to his cell. Although he dreaded what might happen, he was more worried about what would happen if he didn't. “I don't know what they've done with my clothes,” he said.  
   
“I'll find them,” Julian said.

_Holding Cell_  
   
He felt foolish, sitting on his bunk with his heart racing while staring at a locked box. He knew what was inside it. He had put it there himself many years ago and never touched it since.  _Why didn't you just get rid of it?_  he wondered. It had traveled with him everywhere he went, from assignment to assignment, to Romulus where he betrayed dead Tolan's faith in him, to this place, sterile exile that could hardly be further from the life that surrounded him in his childhood.  
   
His hand trembled slightly as he reached to press his thumb across the print pad and key in his code. The lid of the box lifted with a soft shift of air. Garak took it between both hands and slowly swung it back on its hinges. The recitation mask lay on a drab piece of cloth he had swiped from Tain's house the day Tolan died, its empty sockets confronting him with mystery and eliciting atavistic fear. He had never noticed it before, never had reason to notice, but something about the mask's face wasn't fully Cardassian. Were there hints of ridges at the nose? His fingers reached to brush it before his reason could stop him.  
   
Nothing happened, and he relaxed slightly.  _Were you really expecting to be thrown back into a vision the moment you touched it?_  He felt disgusted with himself for being so fearful. Carefully, he lifted it from the box and turned it over in his hands. He traced the inner ridge patterns with his fingertips, like the fossilized remains of ancient sea creatures he had occasionally found in Cardassia's badlands.  _Did you make this?_  he silently asked the dead and received no reply.  
   
No longer afraid, he wanted answers. Lifting the mask, he settled it upon his own face. It was an imperfect fit but not so off that it didn't stay when he drew his hands away. One of the reasons it had always been so easy for him to pass as Tolan's son was because he took more after the Garak side of the family than the Tain. He regarded his cell from the reduced field of vision through the eye holes, expecting revelation, something. Anything. “I'm here,” he said aloud, feeling testy. “You have my attention. You even have me wearing this ridiculous mask. The least you can do is to show yourself.”  
   
Minutes passed with his face feeling damp from his own breath trapped behind the fire hardened wood. He plucked the mask from his face and turned it to face him, holding it up to eye level. “Did you hear me?” he asked. “I said I'm here, and I'm listening.”  
   
“Sounds like a bunch of talking to me,” Tolan's voice came from behind him.  
   
He froze. The fear was back. “You're not Tolan Garak,” he said with slow deliberation.  
   
“Are you Elim Garak?” the same voice asked.  
   
“If you really were Tolan, you'd know the answer to that,” he said. He felt the insect leg sensation of disquiet over his scales at having someone at his back.  
   
“You misunderstood the question.”  
   
He turned slowly, afraid of what he might see, more afraid that he'd see nothing at all and discover that now he was just hearing voices. A voice, to be more precise. Tolan stood leaned against the far wall of the cell with his arms folded loosely across his chest. He looked the way Garak remembered him from childhood, strong and hale, his hair iron gray and his face weathered from years laboring beneath the pitiless Cardassian sun. His blue eyes, twins to Garak's own, held a wry light. “Since when did you become philosophical?” Garak asked, trying his best to keep his internal tremor out of his voice.  
   
“Did you know I was an Oralian before I gave you that mask?” the gardener asked pragmatically.  
   
“No,” Garak said, shaking his head. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation at all.  
   
“Then maybe there are other things you didn't know about me,” he said.  
   
Garak sighed. “I still don't believe you're my uncle.” The figure of Tolan underwent several rapid transformations, face after face, body after body, male and female, young and old, fit, emaciated, and many in between, all of them Cardassians. “Stop it!” Garak said, not liking the high note in his own voice. He felt his stomach crawling and thinking about rejecting the dinner he ate about an hour ago.  
   
“I'm making a point, not trying to scare you,” the figure, now all Tolan again, said. “I'm a gardener. Planting seeds is what I do.”  
   
“Seeds of what?” Garak demanded. “Madness? Good job! I'm halfway there. What's to be the coup de grace? Do you intend to turn into Tain and berate me for being an idiot?”  
   
Tolan pushed away from the wall and approached. Garak stood quickly from his bunk, muscles taut, prepared for anything at all, or so he thought. The man reached to him and settled broad, strong hands to his shoulders. He had felt that touch fewer times than he would have liked in his life. Tolan had never been the most demonstrative of parents, his affection and his approval shown in more subtle ways. This unexpected touch was benediction to hurts he hadn't even been aware he carried. He briefly closed his eyes. “You always were a clever boy,” Tolan said. “Sometimes too clever for your own good. You're not going to grasp this by staying in your head. You're right. I'm not Tolan Garak.”  
   
Before Garak could think to ask him who he was, he found himself staring into his own features. He promptly blacked out. He awoke to an almost identical repeat of his first awakening in his cell, only this time it was Julian with the tricorder and only Odo representing security. “What happened?” he asked. “What did you see on the security feed?”  
   
Odo shook his head, perplexed. “Not much. You examined the mask. You put it on, took it off. Then you froze for a little while, just sitting there. When you slid to the floor, I summoned the doctor.”  
   
“So it's all in my head,” Garak said, frustrated.  
   
“Not necessarily,” Julian said. “The times that Captain Sisko has been exposed to the wormhole aliens he has also had readings like this. I'm not saying that it's a clear certainty, but there is a distinct possibility that you're receiving some sort of visitation. Your glutamate levels are back to normal. Other than slight elevation in some of your neuropeptides and the ongoing problems we've had with your cortisol, there's no sign that anything untoward happened to you at all. What did you see?”  
   
Instead of answering, he looked to Odo. “May I view the security feed?” he asked.  
   
Odo glanced at Julian. He nodded, frowning at Garak but moving to help him up. The three of them went into the security office and stood around Odo's desk. He triggered a reversal of the feed to the proper time stamp. In reverse, Garak could see that things were pretty much exactly as Odo described. However, when he tried to get the loop to play back, nothing but static met them. “That's odd,” Odo said. Garak watched him try to clean it up to no avail. “It was here. We all saw it in reverse,” he added, looking at Garak and Julian. They both nodded.  
   
“I'll have Dax do an analysis on any odd energy readings,” Julian said. “I want to do some blood work on you tonight, Garak. Whatever is going on, I intend to get to the bottom of it.”  
   
Although he had no doubt the doctor intended to try, he had considerable doubt about the results of any such tests. On the way to the infirmary, he thought about the vision, dissecting it in his mind. Strangely, he now believed that whatever or whoever it may have been didn't mean him harm. Had it, it could have simply sent his glutamate levels into critical overload and killed him on the spot. The disruption to the security feed had him convinced there was more at play here than implant scars or a mind trying to crack in captivity. Was that the point of it? To convince him it was real?  
   
Why Tolan and not Tain? Was it because of Tolan's Oralian beliefs, or was it because of his own feelings about the man? It said it was trying to make a point, all those shifting faces. “Garak? Garak!” Julian's voice drew him out of his thoughts.  
   
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm with you. I was just thinking.”  
   
“Why don't you want to tell me what you saw?” he asked, getting him to sit on an exam table for him.  
   
“Because it's personal,” he answered. He wished that he would just shut up and let him think. He felt that he was on the cusp of grasping something, if only he'd be given the time for it. Already, details of the vision were blurring, something he wasn't accustomed to. Trying to grasp it was like trying to hold water in a tight fist. The harder he thought, the quicker it dissipated.  _You're not going to grasp this by staying in your head._  Then how was he to understand it?  
   
Julian had turned away, fiddling with something on a counter top. It occurred to him that what he said may have hurt him. He hadn't meant it that way, yet he was disinclined to take it back. It would only lead to more questions. He allowed him to take his blood. The doctor finished the rest of his scans and rubbed at his face. “I'm not finding anything else unusual. Medically, I don't have an easy answer for you, and although I'd like to spend a great deal more time on this, I've got a burn conference coming up in less than a week. Until Starfleet sees fit to assign us more doctors, I'm having to turn this back over to Frendel. I'm really sorry.”  
   
“Do I look concerned?” Garak asked.  
   
“You ought to,” Julian retorted. “You were days away from dying. Now you suddenly aren't, but I have no explanation for it. That means an hour from now, two days, two weeks, who knows? You could be right back in the same position all over again, and without me here...”  
   
Garak slid from the table to stand and take him lightly by both shoulders. “You just finished saying you have no idea what's going on. You couldn't get me to respond to the medication.”  
   
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” the doctor asked bitterly.  
   
“Actually, yes,” he said, dropping his hands back to his sides. “I'm not telling you that you're a terrible doctor or blaming you for not having all the answers. I'm saying that whether you're here or not, whatever is happening to me is out of your hands. If anything that should be comforting. It's not your responsibility. I'm not your responsibility.”  
   
“If I told you Cardassia isn't your responsibility, would you listen to me?” Julian asked.  
   
Garak snorted softly. He had him there. “All right,” he said. “Worry if you must, for all the good it will do either of us. Are you done with me for the night? If so I'd like to get back to my cell.” He was hoping that he might dream if he could get to sleep, that maybe a different part of his mind might step up and make some sense where there was none.  
   
“Yes, I'm done,” he said. “Come on.” Julian walked him back to the security office in silence, and Garak couldn't help but to suspect there was much he was holding back, himself. He wondered what happened on that vacation of his to send him into such a morose turn. It wasn't as though he hadn't known he and Leeta were to be performing an ending ceremony. Perhaps it hit him harder than he expected.  
   
 _Everything comes to an end sooner or later,_  he thought.  _Or does it? Does a circle begin or end? Now who's the philosopher?_  Just before they stepped through the security doors, he paused. “Thank you,” he said.  
   
“For what?” Julian asked, looking slightly wary.  
   
 _For believing I'm worth saving,_  he thought. However, he answered with nothing more than an enigmatic smile. Julian simply shook his head, turned him over to Odo, and walked away.  
   
 _Julian  
The Promenade_  
   
The night before his scheduled departure for the conference, as Julian was leaving work, he noticed Jake lingering on the second level of the Promenade in the same spot he had grown accustomed to seeing him and Nog. He debated internally for a moment and decided to approach him. He made it almost completely up the stairs before the young man noticed him. “Oh, hey, Doctor Bashir,” he said. “I didn't even see you there. Sorry.”  
   
“You looked pretty deep in thought,” Julian said, coming up beside him and leaning his forearms on the railing in much the same way as Jake did. “Considering a new story?”  
   
“Not so much,” he said. “I was thinking about Nog. You know he'll be back soon?”  
   
“Really?” he asked, surprised. Had it truly been that much time already? He supposed it had.  
   
“Yeah. I'm thinking about rooming with him,” he said, giving a half smile. “It's about time I got out on my own. I can't stay with Dad forever.”  
   
“Have you mentioned this to your father yet?” he asked.  
   
Jake shook his head. “I'm waiting for the right time, you know? He has been under a lot of stress lately. I don't want to add to that.”  
   
“I think he'll be all right,” he said. “He'll probably put up a bit of a fuss. It's his job to protest his son's growing into a man right before his eyes. Don't take it too personally.”  
   
Jake gave a light chuckle then asked, “How did your parents take your coming all the way to Deep Space Nine?”  
   
He exhaled slowly, adopting a humorous expression he didn't feel. “That's an entire dissertation, perhaps for another time.”  
   
“That bad, huh?” he asked.  
   
“That bad,” he answered, nodding. He let his gaze track out over the foot traffic on the Promenade below them. The boy took the hint and followed his lead, the two of them standing for some time in companionable silence. Internally, he worked up to what he wanted to say, needing some form of closure at least for one issue before having to strike out on his own again to yet another conference. He felt as though he was away from the station more than he was allowed to be at home these days, and it was wearing on him. “I read your article,” he said without looking at him.  
   
“My art...oh,” Jake said. Julian saw him glance at him from the corners of his eyes. “Umm, what did you think of it?”  
   
“You're a very good writer,” he said. “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, though.” He forced himself to look him in the eyes. “I'm sorry I took you into that situation.”  
   
Jake glanced away, embarrassed. “That's not what I wanted you to get out of what I wrote,” he said. “I don't blame you for any of it.”  
   
“I didn't think you did,” he clarified. “I blame myself, though. And I wanted you to know something else. It wasn't an easy place for me to be, either. There are things about that place that I think will haunt me to the day I die.” He paused and added, “Off the record.”  
   
“I'm glad you said it,” Jake said. “And I'm glad you were there with me. You made it easier to take. You may not have felt like you knew what you were doing, but you sure looked like you did.”  
   
He smiled, touched. “Thank you, Jake,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I'm off to pack.”  
   
“Pack?” the reporter instinct visibly perked in the boy's dark eyes. “Where are you headed?”  
   
“To an incredibly interesting burn conference. Shall I tell you of the intricacies of treating heat induced tissue trauma from plasma?” he asked, teasing him.  
   
Jake quickly held up both hands. “No, no. That's OK. I...” he glanced over the railing, “have somebody I want to catch up with anyway.”  
   
Julian glanced over the edge, too, and saw Ziyal making her way toward a Replimat table with her sketch pad and a small box with a handle. “Something you want to tell me?” he asked.  
   
Jake rolled his eyes and gave a half grin that took years off his face, reminding Julian of the young boy who first arrived on the station five years ago. “It's not like that,” he said. “She's neat, though. She has seen and done a lot I never have, and she's Gul Dukat's daughter. She's got an inside perspective on a story that may be worth writing in the future. Besides all that, she's nice. It's fun to have somebody close to my age to hang out with since Nog isn't here. I just hope that when Nog gets here, he doesn't start all his Ferengi stuff about females around her.”  
   
“I'm sure you can handle it,” he said. “Enjoy yourself. I'll see you around when I get back.” He left for the turbolift feeling better. Leeta had been right about Jake. He seemed to be doing OK, not suffering major trauma from his experiences. He was the same Jake he had always been, just a little more experienced and philosophical. It wasn't a bad change. Maybe when he returned from Meezan IV, he could deal with the other issues plaguing him.  
   
 _Elsewhere_  
   
Julian groaned and slowly opened his eyes. His limbs had a strange pins and needles sensation tingling through them. His mouth was dry and tasted vaguely metallic. The lighting was entirely wrong for his hotel room, and the scent of unwashed bodies assaulted him as awareness grew. He realized he was lying face down and pressed himself up from the hard surface. A voice he hadn't heard in years froze him in place. “I see you're finally awake, Doctor Bashir. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Hell.” He turned his face and found himself staring straight into the murky eyes of Enabran Tain.

**Author's Note:**

> The story indirectly references episodes from “Nor the Battle to the Strong” through “Trials and Tribble-ations,” picking up with “Let He Who is Without Sin.” I'm still in fast-forward mode, for although “Nor the Battle...” had a lot of good Doctor moments, it was written so tightly there really wasn't room to fiddle around in it. Besides, there's still the issue of Garak's incarceration. I don't want this to turn into a prison story in space, not with such cushy, boring digs. It was posted to LiveJournal on June 14. 2010.


End file.
